


Just the Thought of You

by distefanos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distefanos/pseuds/distefanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look like the night swallowed you and spit you back up again, Carra. Even the makeup team can't hide the shadows under your--no--covering the entirety of your face."</p><p>Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher are coworkers. That's it. To call them friends would be reaching. To call them anything more? That is bloody ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was no conversation, no preamble before the first time. It didn't even feel like the first time. It didn't even feel like anything at all.

But then again they were drunk. Very drunk. An excuse they will surely use in the morning, to explain away the aches and pains of the night before, a jagged feeling in the pit of their stomachs that could only be a hangover and nothing else. The light-headedness. The shakiness. What an insult the sun feels like to bring back memories of the night, razor sharp and blindingly bright like a stabbing pain to your head.

Why does love feel so indistinguishably like a hangover?

That's when something catches in Carra's throat and he rushes for the loo. Cold china toilet bowl on his feverish skin. Love? Did he just say love? Did he just use the word love in direct relation to Gary bloody Neville?

Fucking hell.

********************************

Come off it, nothing happened. I wasn't even in London last night was I, I travelled home to Manchester didn't I. Me and the bottle are not currently on speaking terms. And I most certainly wasn't with _Jamie Carragher _.__

These are the lies Gary tells himself, sat alone under a sewage green umbrella with the worst coffee in London clutched between hands tense and cold. The darkest sunglasses he could find to block the sun and the onslaught of imagery from the night before. Nothing but the absolute obscurity of unconsciousness could do it though, and even then it haunted his dreams.

Well, he says haunted, but.

********************************

"Yes, we have."

"Neville. We've got it spot on already. We haven't."

"We have."

"Sodding perfectionist. It's a waste of time, you know that, don't you? If you do prep on your own and I show up right before action the programme will be exactly the same as if I showed up 2 hours before. We went over it all last night. You're wasting me time and I'm not having it."

"Well there's just no way of proving that, is there?"

"Right I'm going back to sleep. I'll see you at half nine."

"I'll see you in 20 at Sky studio." Gary countered quickly. A pause. Gary actually checks his screen to make sure Carra hasn't signed off. "I'll have a coffee ready for you. From that rubbish place you like. Carra. We've got to rehearse."

"It's not rubbish." It takes a moment for Gary to realize that this time Carra has hung up the phone. They've been through this routine enough times that he knows the exact tone to adopt that will get Carra out of bed. Best coffee in London, Gary finishes to himself.

Also incidentally the first sentence out of Carra's mouth when he stumbles into their conference room half an hour later, scooping the cup out of the tray as he throws himself into the wheely chair across from Gary. The chair creaks and there's a thud as the momentum carries the chair and Carra back into the wall behind.

"You're a child, Carra. A child I have to raise from bed in the morning just to do his job. Here." Gary slides a bound copy of the notes they'd put together last night before the liquor took the wheel across to Carra, who produces a roll of loose, handwritten papers from his jacket.

"Swot, I've brought me own." Carra smirks and unceremoniously flattens his notes on the table. There's the unmistakeable murky brown stains of beer splashed across the first page, the ink bleeding in places that couldn't possibly be read. As Carra flips through the pages Gary recognizes his own hand. He doesn't even remember writing anything in Carra's notes, that's how far along they were and still carrying on pretending to do work.

"You call those notes?" Gary mumbles as he peels back the neat laminate cover of his own and scans the first few lines. Carra's eyes flash before he squints down at his own.

"Well you pass yourself off as a coach so I reckon these days anything can be something they're not."

"Oi." Carra knows he's struck a nerve but it's too early in the morning for him to reel in the rebuttals.

"Taking the piss, Gazza." Carra replies in a fake offhand voice. A bit soft for comfort. The nickname used to stick like a bad taste in his mouth, roll off his tongue with a derision reserved just for Gary. Especially when he's taking himself too seriously. This time it was soft on his tongue. Fuzzy, warm like the beer in their stomachs the night before. They both shift uncomfortably in their seats and go over the weekend matches in a practised way.

The morning after the night before carries on relatively without incident until they are sat in their chairs before filming begins. Gary catches himself staring only because he realizes Carra is staring back.

"You look like the night swallowed you and spit you back up again, Carra. Even the makeup team can't cover up the shadows under your, no, covering the entirety of your face."

"Yeah and I'm still more handsome than you, how's that then? Ugly mug like you can't say aught about me face."

"Yer ma reckons I'm plenty handsome."

"Keep my dear sweet mum out of your filthy mouth." Carra snapped.

"Oh so it's filthy now is it?"

They froze. Gary repressed a shudder as memories from the evening poured undulated across his skin. The taste of him was suddenly on his tongue. Beer and harsh words and Scouse (it's news to him that it somehow has a taste) and something else. Something distinctly Jamie. They locked eyes and it was obvious that Carra was experiencing same. The press of Carra against him in the side chamber at their pub. The tipping point between Carra pretending he lost his balance and holding his weight with purpose against the ache in Gary's gut. The scuffle as Gary pulled him taut against him, a grunt that was taken as an agreement and Carra's lips, first soft and tentative, then parting his own with some purpose. Sloppy and foggy and the motion of it carrying them both away, the noise of the pub just next to them muffled by the coats rack they had slipped under to find themselves alone in an unused chamber. Panel wood pressing against Gary's back as Carra took the lead and Gary gave in, drinking in the moment greedily, gripping Carra in a desperate way that would embarrass him sober. A final squeeze of Carra's palm on Gary's waist before he pulled away.

"We have to leave." A moment of panic swooping in his stomach and clearing his focus like a drop of soap in water as he realizes what's just happened in stark contrast to Carra's words.  A hundred thoughts caught in his throat. You mustn't tell! This never happened. Why did you stop?

An electric buzz as the stage lights are switched onto high. A red light flashing as they all wait silently for the live light to pop into life. Synchronized swallow and swivel in their seats. The world has carried on ignorant of their moment.

"Erm, why?" Were the last words out of Gary's mouth that night.

"We are proper sloshed." Were Carra's, giggling as he swayed against Gary's cheek. Hands on either side of Neville's head, trying to hold him still enough to meet his eyes. He can't quite manage it.

********************************

What stuck to Jamie the most, inexplicably, was how soft Gary was, in all senses of the word. Soft skin. Soft curves. Soft lips. Soft grip as Jamie clutched him tight, moved him far more rough than what was returned to him. You're soft, Neville. He catches himself thinking about that as his back is turned to Gary, waiting separately side by side for the same lift.

"Couple of scoops again tonight, Carra? Prospect for the weekend." Carra doesn't turn, still can't manage to meet his eyes.

"Can't tonight. I've got a thing." If it weren't for the absolute horrorshow moment they shared before kickoff Carra would be asking himself if Gary even remembered last night at all. At any rate none of it bothered him in the slightest. Maybe it was part and parcel for him. Drunken hookups never spoken of. Meaning nothing. He certainly moved like it was all familiar to him.

"You've got a thing? What thing is that?" They stepped onto the lift and Jamie maintained an appropriate distance that wavered between pressing himself awkwardly against the mirrored lift wall and professionalism.

"Alright. I just don't do that as often as you. You know? I can't be on the razz 7 days a week the way you can, Gazza." He winced a little at the slip of the nickname, stared hard at the decreasing floor numbers as the lift clanged to life.

"It's work, Carra. It's life. It carries on, you've got to keep up." 

"Thursday then." Carra concedes, stepping out of the lift as soon the doors open and walking rather faster than usual off in the direction of his car.

Suffice it to say the hangover terrified Carra. He needed a few days to sleep off the feeling. To sleep off the memory of him still clinging to the back of his throat.

********************************

If Jamie Carragher was a more observant man he might have picked up on the signs. His favourite coffee greeting him that morning. The copy of their notes that Gary drew up just for him. The way Gary's pupils dilated in his presence and his failure to make them feel less bright as they bantered back and forth. Gary wanted to kick himself. You're soft, Neville.

But as it was, Carra didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he didn't care. No matter, nothing happened. Things would carry on. They always did. He's forgotten worse.

Only there was something annoying in the way his heart beat a little faster every time he made Carra laugh. He had to force back something desperate and embarrassingly vulnerable in the way he laughed in return.

"Do you really think I'm rubbish?" Gary finally asked, a few rounds later. Carra peered at him across his own pint, everything in his demeanour saying he thinks Gary is the opposite of rubbish.

"Like, as a person? Well you're a Manc so in short, yes, but--"

"I meant as a coach." If his pint had a label he'd be peeling it, but instead he runs his fingers across the condensation clinging to his glass. His tone had somehow managed to put a stopper on the stream of Scouse that was pouring out of Carra.

"Are you asking me if you should quit punditry? I know you've been asked to..." Carra began, uncharacteristically trailing off.

"What? I haven't thought--I meant because you were slagging me off earlier about it. You think I should quit punditry to coach full time?" Gary practically sputtered.

"If I'm honest, you bring a certain passion to your coaching job. It looks good on you. In a way you don't bring to Sky, if you're more interested in coaching then yeah I do reckon you ought to shift your focus."

"No do you know what I reckon? I reckon you're trying to push me out so it can become the Jamie Carragher show. Is that it? Without me around to put you in your place you'll have free rein to say whatever rubbish thoughts enter your head with no one to call you an absolute bell-end."

"You? Put me? In my place? Are you taking the piss? How much have you had to drink Gary? Or is your perception always this distorted eh? Listen I were just paying you a compliment if you don't want to take it you can just say, there's no need to insult me."

"Well then thanks but I don't reckon my stint as a pundit is over just yet. Happy as you will be to see the back of me." Carra snorted at that which made Gary blush a bit. "You'd miss me, though. Admit that."

"Only a little." Carra smirked. Quickly, before the moment could pass, they knocked their glasses together with a clink and drank deeply through their grins, something conspiratorial and friendly between them. 

"I wouldn't miss you at all." Gary insisted as he set his glass down. These are the lies that Gary tells himself, sat across from Jamie Carragher in their pub, the familiar dim stained glass light casting green diamond-shaped shadows across Carra's face. They return to the fixtures and predictions without comment. They leave at a reasonable hour because although Gary in his heart of hearts may not believe his lies, Carra believes them.


	2. A Little Red in the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carra plays a prank on Gary but Gary has the last laugh.

In retrospect it might have been cruel. Maybe. Probably. Funny, but cruel.

Cruel enough that he can't begrudge anyone the way the night ended, and the sad truth of it being the only way he could justify this sort of a night with Gary sodding Neville was to make it into a big joke.

Just know that everyone turned out okay, and no criminal records were harmed in the making of this night.

***************************

"Don't make this weird, but--"

"You've already made it weird by starting out by asking me not to make it weird. But please, do continue."

"No _you've_ already made it weird, Gary, when you--Sod it. So I've got a pair of tickets to this concert tonight."

"Oh." Gary tries to ignore the sinking feeling. He's cancelling their session. He's completely gutted because it means he'll end up doing most of the pre-matchday work on his own. Yes, that's exactly why he's gutted.

"Only me mate's gone and cancelled on me." Carra continues. 

"Oh. Well that's alright then." 

"Is it?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Confusion colours Gary's tone. Why is Carra telling him about a concert he's no longer going to that won't interfere with work?

"Dunno, I guess I thought--well it's no problem, it's not a big show, it's just--er--an Oasis coverband like, we could even meet earlier and do some of the work before the band plays."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Like you said, it's no problem Carra." You're fucking soft, Neville. He only winced a little. Carra didn't seem to notice at all. He just shifted his bag on his shoulder and turned to leave. "8pm mate. I'll text you the address." 

***************************

The band was actually quite good. He really had heard of them before. Honest. Only his mate didn't cancel and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that what convinced him was the bitter taste Carra knows Oasis still leaves in Gary's mouth. He sees it sometimes in the way his eyes go tight when Carra puts them on in the background or hums a tune. He smacked him twice as hard as usual when he spent the day incorporating Oasis puns into every other sentence. He couldn't resist making Gary uncomfortable for an evening while also seeing a band he'll enjoy and having a funny story to tell if anyone asks why in seven hells he was seeing a band with him in the first place.

Three birds, one Oasis coverband. It doesn't get much better than that.

The next bit was not to plan. The pub was minging and the crowd that had turned up was not exactly their crowd. Both of them kept their jackets on, collars pulled up round their ears in hopes that no one would recognize them. On the face of it Carra was a bit embarrassed he'd taken Gary to a place like this. So his solution was to knock back the drinks. He paid for 3 rounds back to back and drank both their beers before Gary finally told him to pack it in. He swayed a litte to the music and he couldn't get this blissful grin off his face. Every time their eyes met Gary smiled nervously back but the bad lighting in the pub and the seedy crowd was making everything feel too real and he had switched to whisky 2 rounds ago and he was feeling a bit--well--pissed.

***************************

"I think that bloke's just knicked me phone." The point of this sentence was that this place was dingy as anything and they should probably take off soon, but Carra looked alarmed.

"You what?"

"Me mobile. That bloke just passing us, I think he's knicked it." He pats his pocket where his phone was moments before the man bumped into him as he shuffled past to get closer to the band.

"Well, then go and get it back from him." 

"Nah, can't be arsed, I'll just buy a new one." Gary replies stiffly.

"Are you joking? That dirty chav has just stolen your phone right out your hand and you don't want to tell him what's what? Don't be stupid. Just go over and ask him it back. I'll do it for you."

"I'll do it myself, alright? I don't need you to do it for me." 

"Good. Then go." 

Gary approaches the man with his fist clenched. He's taller than Gary and wearing quite a few chains. He's intent on the band and so Gary has to tap him to get his attention.

"I'd like me phone back, please." 

"Sorry?"

"You bumped into me just then and you took my phone. I saw you do it and I'd like it back or I'll have to ring police." 

"I haven't got your phone mate." He turns back towards the band. Gary looks back at Carra who gives him a shifty thumbs up and starts to wade through the crowd towards him. That's when Gary panics. 

"Look, _mate_ , I know you've taken it so just give it back before I give you trouble." He pulls the man hard by the shoulder, forcing him to turn back his way.

"Don't fucking touch me ye wanker." The man shouts, grabbing Gary by his jacket. Carra covers the last of the space between them like a raging bull.

"What do you think you're doing, man, you take your hands off him!" But his fist was already swinging and Gary jerks backwards just in time for the blow to hit Carra instead. It hits him hard, he reels backwards and Gary swears he hears a crack. But he manages to stay on his feet and now most of the crowd has turned to watch the drama. The chav has released Gary's jacket and Gary moves towards Carra to restrain him if needed.

"You've punched me in the face!" Carra manages, he's rubbing his jaw where it's already splotching with red, as if he's not quite sure what just happened.

"Yeah, and I'll do it again, I didn't take your mate's phone so just bugger off, would ye!" The chav takes two steps towards Carra and Carra tries to take two steps towards him but Gary yanks him back.

That's when someone puts their hand firmly on Gary's shoulder.

"Time to go lads." It should have been security and they could leave quietly and Gary for one would never find himself in Camden Town again. But it was the police.The chav melts seamlessly into the crowd as Gary and Carra are dragged outside.

***************************

It was like one of those movie scenes where all you see is the bizzies cars flashing blue and white and pavement dark from rain as you're pressed against concrete and violated. Or asked to recite the alphabet backwards or walk a straight line. Only it was immediately obvious that both Gary and Carra were tanked.

They were ushered into the alleyway and then the two coppers convened a ways away to discuss their fate.

"Why the hell did you try to fight him for, eh?" Carra exploded at Gary. Gary, moments before sinking into a terrified daze, looked taken aback.

"I didn't! I were just trying to get me phone back and he weren't having none of it!"

"Don't they teach you manners in your country? Now I've got a punch in the face and he hadn't even taken your bloody mobile." 

"Eh? How do you know that? Carra? Have you knicked my phone?" 

"Did you just say this one's knicked your phone?" The police finally decided to pay them mind. Carra backs away, presses himself against the concrete wall outside the pub. A few people have gathered under the lights of the car to watch the proceedings. And Gary's just set the backdrop for quite a show. In the inside pocket of Carra's jacket, Gary's phone vibrates a telltale heartbeat against his own.

"Frisk him officer, I know he's got it." Gary says fiercely. Did he miss the bit where Carra took a cuff to the chin for him!?

"Hang on, aren't you Gary Neville? That must make you Jamie Carragher. Oi, Bill, have you seen who we've got here? Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher, can you imagine? What are you lot doing in this pub in this part of town...together?" 

At the same time Gary replied "Work." and Carra replied "Mate cancelled." They both glanced away sharply. If Gary had have kicked him in that moment he wouldn't have blamed him.

"You was at that match, wasn't you Bill? Old Trafford back in oh-six versus Liverpool. You know the match." The last bit he says to Gary and Carra. They exchange a glance. At this point only one of them can win. Either they're Manchester fans disagreeing with Carra or they're Liverpool fans with a bone to pick with Gary. Carra vows to put a stopper on his pride if they want to take the piss.

"It was a good match and Gazza had every right to celebrate any way he wanted, isn't that right Gazza?" It took a long second and a nudge from Carra for Gary to realize he was being spoken to. He closed his mouth and considered his words not long enough at all.

"Yeah, yeah that's right. Was a good match, and the victory was well-earned. I take it you're fans then?"

"Sure we are. Longer than your career we have been. So you said Carra's knicked your phone?" Before Gary can even answer they have Carra in cuffs. Carra looks aghast at Gary, imploring him with his eyes to do something.

"Did you knick my phone, Carra?" 

"I was having a laugh Gary, are you really gunna let them arrest me?"

"Aye, Mr. Neville, what do you reckon? Are you wanting to press charges?" Gary's eyes glittered as he considered the situation, again giving an inadequate amount of thought to the situation around him.

"Tell me one thing, Carra, and just know I can tell when you're lying. Have you taken me to an Oasis coverband on purpose?" 

"What're you on about, Gary? I told you, me mate cancelled, you know I love Oasis. I don't even know what you mean."

But Gary has a wicked grin on his face and everything has gone terribly wrong.

***************************

At this point Gary is fairly certain he's been thrown for a loop. But he's not the one in handcuffs.

"Yeah the thing is, Carra, I don't believe you. Any of it. Officer I'd like to press charges." He's trying not to laugh hysterically and has to physically restrain himself from winking at the cops. Carra is glaring at him as the cop has him bent double and leading him towards the car.

"Okay, wait, okay! It was sort of a joke. I--just listen!--I wanted to see the band. But me mate didn't cancel and I know you haven't forgiven Oasis quite yet."

"And my mobile?"

"I was having a laugh, alright? I didn't think you'd try to fight the bloke! Gary--" The cop was trying to force Carra into the back of the car and he was pleading with him now. "Gary, you're not really gunna let them arrest me are you? Listen I just wanted to go out with you, eh? I was only fooling around but we needed a night off didn't we."

"And?" 

"And what?"

"You're sorry for all the trouble. And you can end the prank now, Carra, I'm onto it all." 

"It is. I have. I--I'm sorry--I was only having a laugh. Now would you please tell them you're not going to have me charged!" 

"Officers," Gary says genially, practically dripping with irony. "I reckon I'm having second thoughts about charging our friend Jamie Carragher here. He hasn't really knicked me phone, we was only bantering each other off, you understand." The police officer allows Carra to stand up straight, leaning heavily on the open car door and panting rather more than he needs to having done no physical exercise at all. 

"Are you sure Mr. Neville, sir?"

"Unfortunately I am, fellas. Would you mind ringing us a cab? And uncuffing our friend, there's a good lad."

The icing on the cake for Gary was when one of the officers, Mick, asked for a photograph with him. He laughed loudly and smacked the officer on the back. He looked a little confused but then maybe he wasn't expecting Gary to refuse.

"Not tonight mates, but I ever see you again, I promise I owe you a pint!" A cab pulled up and Carra, who had been skulking some distance away, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had cut into his skin, quickly hopped into the cab. Gary slid in beside him. Carra had already given the addresses, the streetlights striped the windshield with bars of light intermittently. They sat in silence for sometime before accidentally making eyecontact and bursting into laughter.

"I can't believe you almost got me arrested you bloody bastard!" Carra exclaimed.

"Come off it, those weren't real cops." 

"What the hell do you mean, not real cops. What do you think they were then, eh? Strippers?" This catches Gary offguard. He watches Carra warily, sees the undeniable confusion in his blurry gaze. Carra snorts in disbelief and turns to glare out the window.

"I meant, they were only security guards weren't they?" Gary quickly counters. So the police weren't part of the prank. Gary's still not quite sure what to believe.

"No, Gary, they were real fucking cops, and _you_ almost had me arrested." Carra punches Gary on the arm with probably more force than he intended had he been less drunk and less angry.

"I wouldn't have gone through with it. And it's what you deserve after the night you gave me." 

"Is that right, and who got punched in the gob then? Were it you?" 

"Let me see it." Unthinkingly, Gary reaches a hand across to hold Carra's face in his hand, who offered his cheek obediently. Gary pressed his fingers tenderly across Carra's skin, hot to the touch and dark red in places, until he winced. He pressed the back of his hand against it to cool it. They met each other's eyes and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"I reckon that'll be a bruise in the morning." Gary says quietly.

***************************

Everything in the cab except Gary is swaying violently and no matter how much he shifts around the leather seat is sticking to him uncomfortably. He reaches across the middle seat to take Gary's hand and for the smallest second Gary leans into him.

"You were right though, weren't you, I deserved it. And you saved me really. Could have been arrested, couldn't I have?"

"I reckon we're even since you took a hit for me and all." Gary replies. 

"But I was the one knicked your phone." Carra trails off, he's slurring wildly now, and he can't tell if he's moving closer to Gary's face or Gary's moving to closer to him. Gary turns away at the last second when maybe they might have kissed.

"I'm not that drunk, mate." He mutters, shifting back towards his side of the cab. "Cabbie can see us in the mirror." He says even quieter.

"I weren't trying nothing." Carra replies, although he's not sure that every syllable made it out of his mouth, or in that order.

They drop Carra off first, and as he stumbles his way up his drive, patting his pocket for his keys, he instead finds Gary's phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by this ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-481ff3OGqU))
> 
> and this ([x](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-2827256/Gary-Neville-reveals-photos-guitars-jokingly-defaced-Noel-Gallagher-abuse-Man-City-scribbles.html))


	3. Chapter 3

The idea that a 40 year old man doesn't think to put a passcode on his phone was rather hilarious to Carra, but also a bit of letdown. He had lay in bed with a massive headache trying to think of all the codes he would try (1975, 1878, 1902) before he finally fetched the phone from his jacket to find it already offering itself up to him.

As tempting as it was to send Scholesy and Giggs dirty messages or whatever other fun things he could come up with, it was a measure of the growing soft spot for Gary that Carra only changed things on it that would inconvenience him...such as swapping a few names (Phil=Fergie, Roy Hodgson=Grandmum) and renaming others (Himself=Eagle One; Ryan Giggs=Been There, Done That; Paul Scholes= Currently Doing That; David Beckham= It Happened Once in a Dream; Thierry Henry=If I had a to pick a Gunner; Wayne Rooney=Eagle Two). He didn't even change his ringtone to an Oasis song. He nearly did.

Despite all that he spent the day hungover and useless, carrying the phone round in his robe, pulling it out once in a while to rub a thumb across the smooth screen. He had to force himself to stop though when it started ringing and instinctually he lifted it to his ear to answer (Incoming Call: Currently Doing That). He was saved by the confusion that followed when his usual swipe to answer didn't work. Different phone models. A light on the top of the phone flashed for a voicemail Jamie wouldn't listen to. The light kept catching his eye on the bedside table as he completed more prep work before bed. Finally he placed it in the drawer but it continued to sit on the table top of his mind, a presence, a heartbeat in the room.

The phone was throbbing in his jacket pocket when he arrived to work on Monday morning and he was braced for impact but when he arrived Gary behaved as if nothing were wrong. Like the weekend hadn't happened.

He could have tread carefully, he could have taken a hint and never mentioned the phone again, disposed of the evidence. But that would mean he was behaving in a way that had little to do with Jamie Carragher.

"Didn't you get my text this morning, Gary?" 

"You know I didn't. That bloke stole my phone, remember? Haven't gotten a replacement yet, maybe tomorrow."

"Gary..." Gary had been fiddling with some papers on the desk, lining some stats up to the most recent stats on a tablet in his lap, but at Jamie's tone he finally looked up. His eyes were wide, his gaze clear, innocent, unaccusatory. "Who goes 2 days without a sodding mobile phone?" Gary snorted and returned to his work.

He couldn't help himself. Hours later, as they were leaving for the evening, he broached the subject again. 

"Aren't you worried about what someone might find on your phone?" 

"...How do you mean?" Gary said slowly. They were walking through the car park and Gary wrapped his coat tighter across his body, hugged his chest and rubbed his hands together for warmth. The pavement was crisp from the cold and glazed in white and their footsteps tapped out a rhythm across the pavement. Carra was painfully aware that they were moving towards his own car. Dropping off their things to head for a few drinks. It was such a normal part of their Mondays Gary didn't even ask anymore. Carra slowed down, forcing Gary to follow suit.

"I mean, you haven't got anything scandalous on there, have you? Or even banking information, that sort of thing?" Why is he still talking?

"Not really, no. I mostly use my phone for, you know, phone calls and that. And maybe a bit of...work stuff..." He trailed off at that, gave Jamie a look like he had only just realized something, a sinking in his gut like he'd missed a step. 

"Oh." Jamie's reaction was hollow, involuntary. Everything had dried up in his throat and he wished he could return the phone without Gary realizing he'd taken it. It didn't seem remotely funny anymore. Just the look on Gary's face made him feel like he had intruded on something, like he had taken it too far. Will Gary believe him if he swears he didn't look at anything?

"Hey, can you follow me to mine? I've just realized I left my wallet at home." Gary said, he was walking away now, not waiting for an answer, and everything suddenly seemed normal again. Jamie muttered a response that Gary wouldn't hear and got into his car.

His hands gripping the steering wheel were tensed white, knuckles pulled tight, red lines creasing his skin. Jamie Carragher, destroy that phone.

***************************************

Everything that evening had happened so fast and Gary had been churning things over and over in his mind in an effort to understand them at the speed with which they were assaulting him. And yet. The one thing that crossed his mind the most: when he lay in bed finally, poking his peripheral the next day when he was trying to concentrate on something else, was the moment when Carra had leaned in. Gary's heart had leapt and he had wished he were drunk enough to forget about the driver's eyes flicking every so often to meet his in the rear view mirror so that he could meet Carra's lips instead. A little liquid courage to lean in and whisper in Jamie's ear, " _come to mine._ "

And so it took Gary probably longer than most to remember that he had accused Carra of knicking his phone and he had not denied it. As soon as he realized it definitively, it occured to him that he had known all along on some level. He hadn't thought about the phone, about Carra with his phone, because it was already too late. Because what he hadn't forgotten was that he had taken the passcode off a week ago when he kept locking himself out after too many drinks.

Probably the most annoying part about Carra making him upset was that Carra had the ability to make him upset. Nothing short of mortified? Quite honestly, Gary can't even remember what he might have on his phone that would embarrass him but the mere idea of Carra taking a look at things he never expected anyone to see made his bones creak and heat flush to his face. The idiot who didn't lock his phone feels like Carra is looking at such a personal part of his life.

He pulled into his drive and let himself into his own front corridor. He hung his coat and scarf and sat on the stairs to remove his shoes. He flicked on the outside light so that Carra would know to come in. He fixed his hair. He swallowed a quick glass of scotch as he watched Carra park out front his house. He swallowed another as he waited for Carra to realize he would have to come in. As he did so he thought about what Carra might have seen. He swallowed a third as Carra walked in the front door.

***************************************

As soon as Carra walked through the door Gary was barrelling towards him and Carra was truly unsure as to whether he was about to snogged or punched in the face. It felt stupid familiar and he was equally ready for both.

"Why'd you do it then, Carra?" Gary snarled, stopping just short of Jamie, breathing heavily, smelling strongly of booze. 

"Eh?" Carra decided to feign ignorance as long as possible. He took a quick inventory of the room. Maybe he could slip the mobile in Gary's jacket just now and make it all seem a right laugh...

It seemed to take Gary a moment to find the words. "Why did you knick my phone. What have you done with it." His fists were clenched at his sides and there was this look on his face that looked like he wanted to hit him.

"I was having a laugh, alright? I didn't mean nothing by it."

"And?"

"And, what? Look, I'm sorry alright? It was a stupid joke, it would have been nothing back in the day, wouldn't it? Getting a bit old, bit sensitive, aren't we Gazza?"

"And what did you see on it!" Gary spat, loud enough that Jamie felt the words hit the glass on the door behind them. He was dimly aware that the back of his knees were being pressed into the bench in the mudroom. He was more accutely aware of the slight sway in Gary's stance. 

"I--nothing, Gazza. I swear, I never looked at aught on your phone. What's this about then? I thought we was stopping in to get your wallet."

Finally Gary seemed to notice their proximity. He retreated to the doorway to the rest of the house. "Just give it back, Carra." He said quietly. He knew he had no right to be angry, but the idea that Gary didn't believe him when he said he didn't look through his phone had heat rushing to Carra's face.

"Say please." He mocked. He pulled the phone out of his inside pocket and pretended to swipe it unlocked. "What've you got on here anyway that you so desperately don't want me to see?"

"Just give it here!" Gary was suddenly advancing on him, shoving Jamie back so he dropped the phone as he hit the wall with a muffled thud. He didn't seem to notice Jamie had dropped it as he scrabbled for Jamie's hands. 

"Make me." Jamie challenged. He pushed back and pinned the smaller man against the wall across. They scuffled for a short moment as Jamie managed to gain complete control and hold him there, one knee against Gary's thigh and arms crossed over Gary's chest. Gary struggled a bit more, trying to shove Carra off but unable to get a decent grip before giving up.

"I hate your guts Carra, you know that?" Breathing heavily, he stopped pushing Carra away and stifled a gasp as Carra held them both against the wall, hips against hips.

"I hate you too, Gaz." He murmured, swaying forward slightly, and when Gary didn't turn away he kissed him. 

"I've always hated you." Gary said, his teeth lightly nipping Carra's bottom lip. He reached his hands under Carra's shirt, pulled him closer from the hips.

"I always hated you the most." Carra said back as Gary shifted a bit and Carra pushed him back against the wall, deepening the kiss. One palm pressed insistently against Gary's hipbone, cradling it there, rubbing soothing then more urgent circles against soft, such soft skin. He rocked up against Gary hard, held fast by his wrist loosely wrapped around Gary's own on the wall behind them. Gary groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as Carra sucked at his neck.

"I'm serious. I fucking hate you Jamie Carragher." Jamie's yanking the buttons apart of Gary's shirt now, blunt nails across Gary's chest making him shudder.

"Would you mind hating me in the bedroom?" Carra says against Gary's mouth. Gary huffs and still looks angry but he lets Carra release him and without a word he walks off towards the stairs. Jamie retrieves the phone from where it had fallen between shoes, pockets it, and follows Gary up.

He finds Gary struggling with his tie. He stops his hands and finishes the job, pressing one hand flat to his chest and Gary just watches him, anger still wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Jamie shoves him forward so he sprawls on the bed on his stomach and Jamie presses his face against Gary's as he reaches under and undoes his trousers. "I said make me." Jamie growls, reaching for the buckle on his own trousers, taking himself in his hand. "Er, have you got any--"

"In the drawer just there." Gary says, voice muffled by the comforter. He pushes himself up onto his knees, his trousers forcing his legs together, one arm of his shirt pulled halfway over his shoulder. He pulls his shirt off one arm at a time and then pulls his undershirt over his head, ruffling his hair so it stands at odd angles. Jamie catches himself watching him and scoops the bottle out and quickly squeezes some onto his palm. Without much preperation he smears the lube across himself and across Gary and pushes himself in with a grunt as Gary's breath catches. 

"Eh? You were supposed to make me and instead I'm making you. How do you like that?" The last part comes out less of a threat and more of a groan as Gary shifts beneath him and Carra reaches one hand over Gary's shoulder, fingers pressing into soft skin. He leans across Gary and presses his teeth against his neck. Gary shivers, shoves back against him so that Jamie nips him and then sucks hard at the skin there. Gary is so tight and yet so pliant beneath him. He doesn't remember ever feeling this good. As he pushes himself all the way in, feeling himself brush against Gary he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep his breathing under control. When he pulls back again and hits the bundle of nerves and Gary groans Jamie nips again to keep from letting a noise escape him. He rakes his fingernails across Gary's chest and concentrates on the sensation in his fingertips. 

"I hate it." Gary replies finally through clenched teeth. "It's despicable and the very thought of it--oh." Gary stops whatever half-formed thought was making it's way to his mouth as he presses his face into the comforter again to stifle a moan. "Oh Carra." It's not meant to feel this amicable, it was meant to be an angry fuck and Carra regrets the desperate way he wants to kiss Gary and pull him closer. The next moan out of Gary's mouth, this time with his first name has Jamie's hand wandering lower across Gary's chest, brushing against a nipple, gripping his hips and then feeling coarse hairs just above his...

Carra's shaking, grinding to a halt at the very edge of control. He pulls out and Gary rolls over onto his back, obscene blotchy red marks across his throat where Carra had been kissing and lines of nail marks scattered across his chest. He flicks off the lights and hears Gary shift around on the bed. Without a word from either of them, Carra finds the edge of the bed and Gary again. He runs soothing knuckles up Gary's side as he tenses and Carra pushes back in unceremoniously. He can't help the moan that escapes him, quickly cut off by the meeting of their lips. Once. Quickly but communicating way too much. He rests his head against the crook in Gary's neck as he picks up a rhythm, pushing in slowly, deep before pulling out fast, almost all the way, then back again. The bed shifts beneath them and Gary is gripping Carra's waist just above his ass, squeezing and unsqueezing as Carra fills him, feels him tightening around him through the rhythm.

"You know what I hate the most?" Gary croaks, his voice buzzing against Carra's cheek.

"You can grab my arse, Gary." Carra grunts, barely holding on now.

"I hate the way you make me feel." Gary says softly. A quick intake of breath and he feels Gary's hand brush his stomach as he reaches for himself between them. He feels a warm spurt of come hit his wrist where he's wresting his palm on his chest and Gary stops breathing, a low whine cut off by another kiss. Carra moans as Gary tightens around him and his breath hitches as he comes inside of him. He holds himself above him as his heartbeat slows to normal and he kisses his neck once, softly, before pulling out.

"I don't think you hated me enough that time." Carra jokes as he finds his clothes scattered across the floor.

"Leave my mobile on the bedside table." Gary says as he crosses the room in the dark, his feet visible for a moment, silhouetted in the patch of light on the floor by the window and then the back of him as he switches on the bathroom light and slams the door.

The noise sits in the room, not soft at all, the violence of it infiltrating the silence and making Carra think that maybe he should stay. Instead he catches up his socks and belt in one hand as he reaches into his pocket to drop Gary's phone on the table. He leaves quickly and slips out quietly, before there's any sign he was ever there at all.

He wonders what was on the phone that made Gary so upset.


End file.
